MICHAEL BRODEUR

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The radiant, repressed pop of Neon Indian Everybody please stop calling Alan Palomo "nostalgic." When I check in with him last Friday, the dude seems far more interested in whatever is on the horizon than whatever's in the past.

Kill Rock Stars (2010) I don't know what it is about the top left corner of our country that moves its indie-rockers to cuten up their miseries into adorable little creatures (see: Death Cab, Built To Spill, Elliott Smith, and my favorite specimen, Quasi), but it's a trick that just keeps working.

Stephin Merritt and Magnetic Fields consider Realism "If you're not writing about yourself, you can say anything you want, and it will probably be more revealing of your personality than if you're writing openly about your own life."

Nneka brings Nigeria's plight to light Nneka, who comes to the Middle East next Thursday, sounds a lot different on the phone from what you hear in her songs. She speaks softly, allowing stretches of silence to throw her thoughts into harsh relief. On record, she's all business.

Idol Threat Dept. By the time I get Andrew Fenlon on the phone — two days after the airing of his now-notoriously contentious American Idol audition — the world around us has already split into three factions: those who loathe him, those who love him, and those who need a reminder: who is Andrew Fenlon?

Sub Pop (2010) Before I talk about Beach House's third album — the top dreampop album of 2010 until further notice — I should reveal that I had the big gay whirlwind romance of my life under the influence of a steady stream of Beach House Mania at SxSW three years ago.

John Ashbery's Planisphere So understood is John Ashbery's post at the top of the contemporary American poetry heap (a distinction these days with the cultural heft of a Scrabble championship) that the question of just how to read him seems doomed to languish beside the point. Detractors need only a pillow and a trusty alarm clock to approach Ashbery.

The Boston8Bit collective put their chips on the table If you were young and had brain space to spare in 1985, those vacant folds were likely soon flooded with the vast audial ephemera of the Nintendo era.

No teleportation, but lots of rad new albums Even with all the promise of the new year ahead, it's hard not to feel a little stiffed in the Future of Mankind department. Here it is, 2010, and there's nary a flying car to be seen.

Fanfarlo adjust to the road Even with the new order completely renovating the rock biz, some things have to be done the old-fashioned way. And after having their asses duly kicked by the old-fashioned way this past month, the five-piece London orchestral-pop combo known as Fanfarlo are eager to be done with this, their first US tour (which comes to T.T. the Bear's this Thursday). It's been a doozy.

The learning curve of Lissy Trullie I'm not a big fan of the "you are what you eat" theory of musical influence. I've experienced enough defective Radiohead knockoffs in my day to know that a group's favorite bands often have nil to do with how their music will sound. I also think that our systems of influence are a bit more porous and a bit less under our control than any eating metaphor might suggest.

Passion Pit, Phoenix, and Spoon, live at the Orpheum Theatre, December 4, 2009 A quick, mildly sycophantic shout-out to the "powers that be" here in Phoenix -Land: This year's Miracle on Tremont Street was nothing short of a wicked pissah powerhouse bill. The grand old Orpheum creaked under the weight of a sold-out audience, and a pronounced feistiness prevailed .